


hope is the thing with feathers

by ChemicallyEnhanced



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: A bit of vomiting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Based off of Waltz's Bad Ending, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Reluctant Friendship, Some humor because I can't help myself, Waltz-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemicallyEnhanced/pseuds/ChemicallyEnhanced
Summary: She is not dead, he tells himself.





	hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> edit (dec 9, 2018): it's been a year since i last updated this fic, and while i've got the 2nd chapter basically done, i'm not sure when i'll get around to actually finishing it. i'm not very good with writing fight scenes, but since the holidays are coming up, maybe i'll be able to finally upload that 2nd chapter.  
> inspired by BrytteMystere's fic [An Empty Shell](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10845360)

The castle is not how it should be.

Even before, when Hildyr was still in power, there was still light. There were still noblemen and women who visited the palace, maids who curtseyed the king with a smile, balls that brought awe and joy to whoever participated. And Lucette. Lucette, who, at only 8 years old, could brighten up someone’s day with just her smile.

Now, as Waltz roams around the palace grounds under the cover of night, careful not to catch any of the spelled guards’ attentions, he wonders what there is left. He’d lost his family so long ago already; the ache that used to be present whenever he thought of them has lessened, almost to the point of non-existence. Those at the Marchen…he’s forced to stop in the shadows of a pillar before he trips over his own feet in sorrow.

He does not know where they are. As soon as Hildyr went public, immediately striking fear into the hearts of Angielle once more, everyone at the Marchen disappeared. The house itself reverted back to its original run-down appearance, no more covered by the magic that Parfait had placed over it at the very beginning. They are all gone. To Waltz’s own knowledge, he is the only one of them that is left in Angielle. The others could have gone into hiding in other neighboring kingdoms, perhaps Brugantia, home of Prince Klaude Aidric—Karma, that is who he will always be known to Waltz, but he has no way of knowing.

Shaking off the residual despair clouding his heart, Waltz continues moving, steps light as he steadily reaches his destination in the palace—Lucette’s room. The qu…Hildyr had left her daughter to the bedroom she’d had since childhood with not even one knight standing guard in front of her door.

Waltz feels the bitterness rising up in his throat once more; Hildyr has the upper hand in this case. She _knows_ that he will not try to escape the palace with Lucette, because with only a simple spell, one simple word, Hildyr can destroy her.

So he’s limited himself to visiting Lucette when everyone else is thought to be asleep, sitting at her bedside even though he is mostly sure that she is not really sleeping. He cannot sleep much in these past few months, anyways.

The moon shines dimly into the stale quiet of Lucette’s bedroom as Waltz enters, eyes instinctively moving to where his star, his only love is lying still underneath her covers. Her chest rises and falls calmly, eyes closed, and Waltz breathes out another sigh of relief for the 5th time in as many days.

With a small, hopeful smile, Waltz sheds off all his previous misery in favor of speaking a few, kind words to the one who gives no signs of understanding him. “Evening, princess.” With just that one word, hundreds of memories run through his mind, of seeing Lucette again when he still had his curse, of doing puppet shows with her trying not to smile in the audience, of lying next to her warmth, feeling her heartbeat against his. He feels a little more hope again, afterwards.

He sighs a little, and continues, “Today, I went into town, and guess what? Your favorite bakery was open again for business. Isn’t that great? Maybe we’ll be able to visit there one day, if you’d like to. I know how much you like their croissants.” His smile turns into teasing, already imagining how Lucette would react to this tiny bit of information, how she would pretend not to care for only a second, then give in and drag Waltz there—just for the croissants.

He loses himself a little in the vision, remembering Lucette’s spitfire personality, her bright laugh, her lovely smile…

Hope blooms like a night flower in his chest, and he _aches_ to talk to her now. Then he catches sight of her in the reality, of the paleness of her skin and the bruises under her eyes. It kicks him out of his daydream, and the hand that loosely grasps hers tightens slightly as all of that optimism, all of that joy, drains out of him, leaving him with this stale hope and the ever-present sourness in the back of his throat.

Waltz curses to himself quietly, and slides his hand out of Lucette’s. This always happens, every time he can’t help from visiting her. It is a dangerous thing to hope so much, yet he cannot help it. It is all he has. If he loses it, then…well, he doesn’t like to think about that possibility.

Instead, a sharp anger pierces through his veins as he thinks of who is responsible for most of this. As he leaves Lucette’s room to head back to his own, half hidden in one corner of the palace, he promises to himself fiercely once more that he _will_ make sure the only thing left of Hildyr is her name in history, regardless of what he has to do in order to achieve it.

* * *

 

The days seem to be getting short and longer at the same time. Waltz lurches awake from nightmares after one or two hours of sleep, goes through the list of tasks that Hildyr orders him to do as slowly as he can, just to spite her a little more, then is free the rest of the day unless she calls for him again.

When Hildyr does not need him, Waltz practices his magic and uses as much as he can of the library’s resources. There _must_ be some spell, some kind of ritual that can bring life back to Lucette, if sheer willpower and an unbelievable amount of persistence are not enough. He is typically not a big fan of reading or staring at pages and pages of text for hours, but for Lucette…nothing is too much.

Today, he reads over another book that has to do with curses and their counter-curses on things relating to the individual, but there is…frightfully little written about the subject. Most that is known have more to do with the simpler curses, like how to remove hair or how to grow fingers back. There are very few sections about the person’s _soul_ or consciousness, though when Waltz thinks about it for a minute or two, he realizes that maybe there weren’t many times in magical history in which the person became an empty shell to one’s own mother.

Frustrated, he shuts the book closed a bit roughly and pushes it aside, resting his head on top of his arm on the table. “Is there really nothing…nothing I can do?” He murmurs to himself, heart sinking in despair.

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken up the habit of talking to yourself,” A voice suddenly pipes up from what appears to be nowhere. It makes Waltz sit up in his chair, legs spread and feet steady in case of a fight. The disembodied voice continues, with a bit of exasperation this time, “I’ve already had to deal with that evil witch monologuing in her _lair_ all the time.”

Muscles tense and hands hovering uncertainly as he wonders whether to call for his magic, Waltz squints in the direction he _thinks_ the voice is coming from, mentally running through a list of people he knows to figure out who it belongs to. It’s probably…

From the shadows melts away a figure dressed in all black, complete in a mask and cape as if he were the lead actor in a dramatic play, lips tilted up in quiet amusement but the rest of his face impassive.

…Varg.

Waltz relaxes, enough so he doesn’t appear to be a threat but still able to defend himself if necessary. “You,” he states, not sure whether to be angry or not.

“Yes, hello,” Varg mockingly replies, though his voice still sounds flat and almost unlike the few times Waltz had heard him speak. “Is there anything illegal occurring here that I need to report to Queen Hildyr? Perhaps a certain someone attempting to save the poor princess?”

Waltz unconsciously looks back towards the book he was studying, then to where Varg is…hulking in the next moment, but it is enough for the other to figure out what he was doing. “It’s not against the law to save the one I love,” Waltz finally says, a familiar fire sparking inside his gut, one of determination.

Varg’s expression does…an odd thing. His mouth straightens into a line and his eyes darken with something— _pain,_ Waltz’s mind tells him—before it’s gone in the next second and he is stonily blank again. “The one you love? Interesting,” he says in a strangely subdued tone.

…this is all very strange. “What do you want?” Waltz demands, getting to the point of the matter. He has no time for mind games right now; there is only so much time in a 24 hour period.

“What I want?” Varg muses quietly. “What I want is irrelevant. I lived to serve Sir Mythros, and now I live to serve Queen Hildyr. I have but one absolute goal.”

Waltz’s eyes narrow in a slow realization. “You—“

Varg smiles, but it is a derisive smile, one that is simultaneously amused and resigned. “Protect the princess, no matter the cost.”

It’s not too different from what Waltz believed he was already doing before, but somehow it carries more impact this time than how he’d said it when Lucette was still at the Marchen. A seed is planted in his thoughts, and the more he thinks about it, wondering in the silence between the two of them, the more he believes it. He and Varg…once had very similar goals. Protect the princess. Protect Lucette from harm. Now, it is different, because he wishes to _save_ Lucette and Varg is only ordered to protect the shell that she has become, but…it is startling.

Waltz changes his position, hands lowering a bit more and mouth twisted in thought. Somehow…he thinks that Varg will not try to hurt him here. It is a naïve idea, but one he immediately accepts because of the way Varg is standing. That is not the stance of a man who is ready to attack at any time.

The workings of a plan are beginning to form in his mind, so indistinct and chaotic that they are only a mess of ideas, but it is something. It’s…something that he has not thought of until now, until this odd meeting with the one he used to hate with every inch of his being because of how he was a threat to Lucette and those in the Marchen. Things are different now. He will have to organize his thoughts at a later time, a later hour.

By the time Waltz is able to refocus his attention, Varg has left the room, with not even a speck of dust as if he were never there in the first place. With a soft hum, Waltz shuffles back into his seat and pulls another book closer to him, peeling it open to a random page and rubbing his eyes in fatigue before starting the first sentence.

The words blur together in a tangle of concepts, theories, and ideas, none of which have any use to him at the moment. All he desires is a simple set of instructions that will tell him what he needs to do, but to believe that something like that will be easy to find is a naïve thought, considering he has been wielding magic long before he could remember.

Pushing out another tired breath, he decides to finish up for the night and retire to his own quarters so he can continue strengthening his magical defenses. There are no words to describe how exhausted he is, having to work as a servant under Hildyr’s rule as well as quietly rebelling against her in the darkest hours of night before dawn. He stands up and stretches, carefully shelving the books into small, hidden nooks and crannies in the library so nobody will discover what he has been doing.

He has only just left the comforting, still air of the library when he feels a tug in the very base of his skull, signaling that Hildyr is calling for him through the…bond that she placed upon him when he, very reluctantly, agreed to work for her as her “pet dog”, as other guards have muttered under their breaths. Yet another advantage that that _witch_ has over him. It is something that ties him so closely to her in a way that feels almost perverse and would definitely work against him if she chose to take advantage of it.

Waltz grits his teeth and clenches his hands before releasing them, as, once again, he is faced with the truth that there is an impossible task ahead of him, with only him to complete it.

Though…

He is reminded of the short conversation he had with Varg in the library as he obediently trudges towards the throne room, where Hildyr spends most of her time since she forced her way back into power. There was something odd about Varg as they spoke about Lucette. Perhaps he is also planning something? No…it does not seem to fit who he is, what little of it Waltz is able to see. Varg is the sort of person to only move when it is absolutely necessary, or he is ordered to; otherwise, he does not take any part. Then what could it be…?

Waltz is forced to remove these thoughts from his mind when he opens the grand doors to the throne room to see Hildyr looming over someone kneeling in front of her, with Lucette standing blankly to her right. The princess does not look any different from when he visited her two nights before, but, if possible, she looks even paler.

_Gods above…what did Hildyr call me here for?_

He immediately falls on one bended knee and rises again fluidly, conditioned after so many times of greeting Hildyr and being punished for not showing a certain level of “respect”. “Queen Hildyr,” he says, face completely wiped of any emotion.

When she turns her attention on him, an ominously pleasant grin spreads across her face. She looks almost…happy, which is never a good sign. “Waltz,” she replies back. “My faithful servant.” Suspicion rushes through his very pores; something is _definitely_ happening if she uses that title to address him. The person at Hildyr’s feet looks behind their shoulder at the mention of his name, and equal parts fear and nausea punches through Waltz like a wall. He knows this person, how could he not recognize him?

The former knight of the Order of Caldira stares back at him, eyes wide in realization. Waltz cannot say anything; he is too shocked to do anything else. “Waltz…” Garlan breathes in disbelief. “H-how are you—“

Hildyr waves a hand and Garlan’s attention is forcibly jerked back in front of him with a groan of pain. Her expression looks…eager, excited, as if this were some medieval gladiator game that she is watching from the audience. “So you know him, Waltz.” It’s not even a question; Hildyr is too smart to believe anything less. “Well,” and here her voice dips in clear amusement. “That will make this all the more interesting.”

Sourness coats the back of Waltz’s tongue. He prays that she will not ask him to do what he _knows_ will happen. A bead of sweat runs down the back of his neck, and his knees feel like they will give out from underneath him. But no…he has to appear strong, otherwise he will lose all hope in this situation. “Hildyr…what is the meaning of this?”

She smiles, but it is more predatory than anything. “The guards found him, wandering around afterhours. They brought him here, into the palace.” Releasing a thoughtful hum, Hildyr bends down to Garlan’s height and places a hand underneath his chin, turning his head back and forth. Garlan does nothing but clench his jaw in clear frustration. “You used to be a knight here, in the palace, weren’t you?”

When Garlan does not answer, she presses her fingers harder into his chin, eyes narrowing. “Am I correct?”

Garlan swallows and bites out a “Yes.” Waltz is able to do nothing but stand there, motionless, as Hildyr continues with this mind game; it is only to intimidate those she destroys afterwards, although she is unfortunately already frightening enough.

With another hum, Hildyr releases Garlan’s face from her hold and stands up swiftly. A small, pleased smile touches the corners of her lips, and Waltz feels the bottom drop from his stomach. “Waltz,” she calls, gesturing him over to where she is standing.

His footsteps feel like lead as he carries out what she says, and now he can clearly see Garlan’s face, so openly afraid but hidden under a poor mask of defiance. Waltz wonders, in the back of his thoughts, how much he has changed since serving under Hildyr in the palace. Much, if his face does not betray his emotions any longer. When the muffled sound of his boots stops echoing, it seems to him as if time in this room has stopped as well.

Waltz’s lungs feel like they are not taking in enough air when Hildyr’s lips form over the order, “Kill him.”

There are still so many questions he wants to ask. _Why are you here in Angielle? Where is Jurien? Where is everyone else? Are they…alive?_ Somehow, a piece of his soul is breaking as he frantically tries to think of a way out of this to no success—his thoughts are too chaotic to make sense of anything at the moment. All he can think of is the fact that his friends, his family from the Marchen will never forgive him—and he won’t, either.

He holds his breath as he raises an arm, using all the strength he has to keep it from shaking in the pain that he will henceforth carry with him, and calls on his magic with his customary circle of purple runes and symbols. This spell is a familiar one—it paralyzes your enemy and kills them if the force is great enough. He once taught Lucette how to use it, just in case. Just in case.

Suddenly, he feels like shattering. Garlan’s eyes are no longer wide with terror; they are now chillingly calm and clear, as if he has already accepted his fate. The thought has Waltz struggling to keep his arm from falling. All at once, there is a crackling in the air that immediately precedes the surges of lightning bursting from his fingertips, loud and blindingly bright, and in the next moment he can hear Garlan’s agonizing cries of pain.

Waltz can only do this for less than a second before he has to stop. He cannot—he cannot do this. Already Garlan is only half-conscious, slumped forward from where he’s kneeling and clothes singeing slightly. With barely the strength to stand, Waltz’s hands fall to his sides as he stares, horrified, at Garlan’s still form. He only faintly hears Hildyr, next to him, sigh in impatience.

“Can you really not accomplish a simple order?” She asks, almost sounding bored.

In just a second, Waltz’s eyes widen with the implications of her question. Paralyzing fear quakes through him, along with no small amount of fury, just as she raises her arm. Garlan is already weak; he does not have the strength to defend himself. Before Waltz can even so much as blink again, Hildyr delivers a blow that would kill even the strongest of humans.

As quickly as it happens, Waltz lurches forward with a raw, aching, “NO!” but it is already too late. He is too slow, the blow reaches its target, and Garlan is dead.

In the immediate aftermath of the incident, Waltz has a hand clutched to his chest, as if he could rip out the pain—the pain, and the pure, boiling fury—from his heart, and Hildyr tilts her head and regards Garlan’s still-kneeling form with a sick pleasure.

“It is your fault that I was forced to do that,” she comments, almost casually, as if she did not just murder a member of Waltz’s family. He cannot respond. “Leave,” she then commands, waving a hand so guards from the sides of the room can…put the body away.

Simultaneously numb and filled with the most unimaginable pain, Waltz staggers away from the throne room and only manages to make it halfway to his quarters before he bends over and vomits into a small area of grass. He coughs and swipes at his mouth, gagging at the taste of sick in his throat. Mind blank and heart still aching, Waltz finds himself wandering to Lucette’s bedroom even though he knows she will not be there quite yet.

It is the only place left in this palace that he has fond memories of, after all.

With only a spare glance to her bed, as if reassuring himself that there are still things to fight for, Waltz collapses onto a nearby chaise and fall unconscious.

* * *

 

“Lucette!” Waltz gasps out roughly as he jerks awake after another nightmare, this time one about her being in Garlan’s place instead and—

He shivers and grabs at his sleeves, face twisted in pain as he recalls what had happened the previous night. Or earlier that night, as a careless glance out the window tells him. He must have only been asleep for a few hours before the nightmare forced him awake. Biting off a noise of sorrow, Waltz curls into himself and tries to calm his quick and throbbing heartbeat by staring at the shelves of Lucette’s dolls from the corner of his eye, hoping they will at least relax him enough that he won’t fall apart if he moves.

Earlier was…indescribable agony. Waltz allows himself to think about what happened for only a minute or two. Instinctively, he feels guilt. Guilt for following Hildyr’s orders like some mindless slave. Guilt for not doing enough. Guilt for…he faces away from Lucette’s dolls and breathes in deeply several times, forcing the nausea away.

It was something that he did not believe would ever happen. How did Hildyr even _find_ Garlan? The knight must have been so, so careful not to get caught, and somehow…he did. The corner of Waltz’s lip curls up into a sardonic smile, and he laughs bitterly, just once. He cannot succumb to it. This hopelessness, this call to corruption that he can feel rising in him as the weeks pass. He cannot.

So he thinks of Lucette, as he nearly always does whenever he has moments like this. Instead of remembering the time they spent together just half a year ago, he tries to remember the memories they shared when he was just 12 years old. He thinks of her laughter, of her innocent happiness whenever he’d conjure up a few brilliant orbs of light or pinpricks of stars, and the moment he realized he would do anything for her. The memories make him smile into his lap, but they also make his heart _ache_ with bittersweet longing.

Sighing, his heart now beating steadily, Waltz straightens from his curled-up position and nearly leaps back when he spots a figure half hidden in the shadows of the room. He realizes who the person is in less than half a second, and slowly unfolds his legs from the chaise to place them—somewhat—firmly on the ground.

“…Varg,” he says as greeting. His legs still feel a bit wobbly, so he decides not to stand up in case he just ends up falling right back onto the chaise. He probably does not make the most intimidating figure right now, but he is too tired to care at the moment.

Somehow, the other male is even more solemn than when they’d met in the library several hours before. “That was some performance there,” he ends up saying.

Waltz huffs out a breath, nostrils flaring, but does not comment on what was clearly a cruel and painful experience, for both him and Garlan. Even now, the name brings an ache to his chest. “What do you want?” He asks before realizing he’s just repeated the same question from before. This time, however, it is in a completely different circumstance.

In reply, Varg places a finger to his lip and glances meaningfully towards Lucette’s bed. There, Waltz can see the princess is “sleeping”, covers drawn up to her chin and mouth parted. It is almost as if she really were asleep. Waltz’s gaze _burns_ from how hard he is staring at her, wondering if he could bring life back to her through pure resolve. But no…she stays completely still, and Waltz has to look away to hide the inexplicable sense of disappointment inside him.

There is some silence for a moment or two, before Varg speaks up again, this time much quieter, “You knew him, that knight.”

He does not sound apologetic or sympathetic, only stating a fact, but still Waltz feels himself soften in a quiet grief. “Yes.” And because that somehow does not sound like enough, he adds, regretful, “He was like family to me.” Then he discovers that that is most likely a topic that Varg will not want to touch upon, since not even Waltz himself knows the full details of who the man is or why he was working under Myth in the first place. Perhaps the idea of “family” is…difficult for him. Instead he continues with, “What are you doing here?”

Varg’s lip twitches. “Here? You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“Here, in Lucette’s room,” Waltz corrects, another realization coming to him tonight. Because the princess basically has the tightest security right now, there is…really no need for Varg to even be here anymore.

“Protecting the princess,” comes the other male’s reply, almost automatically.

Waltz immediately fires back, maybe a bit thoughtlessly, “But the princess is already being protected. By the guards, by Hildyr.” _By me,_ he does not say, but he knows Varg understands. Possibly. What _is_ Waltz trying to say? That Varg is not needed anymore so he can just up and leave if he wants? There’s no chance that he is able to just _leave_ the palace, at least not without being tortured or something.

This is all so very confusing. If only he had more information.

From his angle, Waltz does not see Varg’s hands tighten around the top of his cane, does not see his jaw working to reign in his anger. What he does see, however, is Varg physically affected by his words, the way he shifts the position of his feet and the sudden tenseness of his shoulders. That…is interesting. Why would Varg be provoked by Waltz’s words? He does not seem to be the sort of man to carefully guard his pride like an expensive jewel.

A very unlikely idea digs its roots into Waltz’s thoughts. “Do you…care for the princess?” He hedges, not expecting an answer. Maybe Varg will do something this time, like hit him over the head with his cane.

What he does not expect, though, is the complete softening of Varg’s features, mouth turning downwards into a frown and entire form loosening as if Waltz had just unraveled a thread. He notices Varg swiftly look to where Lucette is lying, a sort of…tormented gleam in his gaze, and suddenly, Waltz understands. “You are in love with her.”

It does not take a highly intelligent man to figure out how love is like for other people and what it physically may look like. Perhaps how it shows on Varg is slightly…unconventional, but it is still love, regardless.

With a start, Varg’s frown becomes a scowl, and his eyes narrow into a glare. “Might there be a problem?”

 _He does not even attempt to deny it…_ Waltz wonders. But, as he himself is the best example of it, there really isn’t any reason to deny your feelings for someone, especially if that someone is as lovely as Lucette.

For the first time that night, Waltz feels his entire body relax, muscles releasing most of the stress that he didn’t even notice he’d been carrying all this time. This is far from a normal situation, but strip away all the tiny details, everything about who they are and what they are doing, and it is only a conversation between two men who love the same woman.

“No, there is not,” Waltz finally answers, not giving the chance for any doubt. But his mind is already working furiously, cogs and wheels and steam trying to insert this new detail into the beginnings of a plan, one that he initially started almost a half day ago when he was visited by Varg in the library.

 _This man is in love with Lucette, and desperately at that._ It sounds…insensitive to use one’s emotions against him, and Waltz will admit that a small bit of guilt enters his heart, but to be able to destroy Hildyr, to escape with Lucette and have a sort of…ally along with him makes him more optimistic. But he cannot reveal his plan now, when they have literally just met face to face without any obstacles between them. No, there is another time for that. For now…

He looks to Lucette, who appears so fragile and vulnerable, and a familiar protectiveness, along with the same amount of love and tenderness, washes over him.

For now, he will try to spend as much time with her as he can.

* * *

 

The light, sweet scent of roses and an assortment of other flowers fills Waltz’s nose, and he takes a moment to just breathe and remind himself that he is actually outside, if only still inside the boundaries of the palace grounds and close enough that Hildyr could easily order the knights on him with only a snap of her fingers.

Not even this thought can hamper his surprisingly good mood today, though. Because the summer sun is not so overbearing on this warm day, Hildyr has allowed him— _very graciously,_ she had said before, a dangerous gleam in her eyes that told him to be extremely cautious—to take Lucette out for an hour or so for some fresh air and warm sunlight—with several knights surrounding them some kilometers off and Varg as an escort, of course. But still, it is…wonderful, to be able to roam around—relatively—unbothered, Lucette’s calming presence beside his as he strolls around the gardens and nearby bunches of trees.

After experiencing the stale, bitter air inside the palace for so long, Waltz marvels at the warmth on his skin, feeling _alive_ for the first time in ages. He hadn’t known how stagnant the air of the palace rooms were until he took a step out the grand double doors of the palace and felt almost _moved_ by how free it all was.

Waltz smiles, wide and carefree, as he walks backwards through one of the gardens, staring up at that brilliant sun in the sky and occasionally looking in front of him to make sure Lucette is not lagging too far behind. It is still sort of surprising that she is able to move along without any trouble, considering the few times Waltz had seen her walk she needed to use her mother as a crutch.

Perhaps she is, little by little, returning to her old self, even if it is something as small as having the ability to walk a long way?

The thought brightens his mood a bit more, and he almost feels like laughing and doing something reckless like releasing a spray of petals into the air as he used to do when he was still cursed. Instead, he jogs over to where Lucette has stopped to look at a bunch of flowers nearly the same shade as her beautiful hair. His smile softens, turns into that fond thing that the others used to say was his “lovesick” face whenever he caught sight of Lucette.

Without even thinking, he reaches forward and takes one of Lucette’s hands in his. The princess does not react other than to turn her head at the unexpected physical contact, then up into Waltz’s face with not even a change in her expression. Faintly, he thinks he hears Varg breathe in sharply for a moment from where the other male is standing underneath the shadow of some trees, but it was so quick he is not sure he imagined it. If there were something wrong, the knights scattered around the grounds would have said something about it, anyhow.

For a minute or so, the two of them just stand there, Waltz with a mildly disappointed smile on his face and Lucette only staring blankly back at him. “Hey, princess,” he says, a bit quieter as if they were in their own personal bubble, as if they were lovers speaking intimately to each other. “Stay still, alright?”

Realizing that she will not answer him anyways, he sighs and continues, bringing his other hand up to gently hold both of hers, as if they were cupping water. He only has to nudge the smallest bit to call his magic forward, and because this is not a spell that uses a lot of power, the typical circle of purple runes and symbols does not appear. In the next few moments, glowing sparks begin to gather towards the palms of Lucette’s hands, coming together to form a small white flower right in the center.

A lily.

Waltz looks back at her face to see if her expression will change at all, seeing her favorite flower. Although there is no such change, he finds his eyes softening until they regard her with infinite tenderness, and warmth spreads outwards from his heart. He finds himself almost in a trance, looking at her, at her wide, golden eyes, her straight regal nose, her small pink lips.

 _Oh, how I love her_ , he thinks, breathless and aching with affection.

Lucette’s empty gaze stays on the flower in her palms until she raises her eyes back up to Waltz’s, and for the tiniest second, not even the span of a blink, he thinks he sees a small gleam in the very depths of those shades of gold. As soon as he does blink, however, it has disappeared, and he forces a deeper part of him, the one that hopes so fiercely, not to deflate at this loss. He tries his very hardest to hold his bright and sincere smile, not wanting to suddenly fall into a depression because of such a tiny thing.

 _Ah…_ But he thinks, _if there was any sign that Lucette was returning back to normal, I would take it._

Quickly, Waltz shakes these negative thoughts from his mind and gives a small, but genuine, smile to the princess, who is still carrying that delicate white flower in her palms. He sighs and removes his hands from underneath hers, then lightly grasps her wrist and begins leading her back to the palace. The lily drops to the ground, forgotten for the meantime. It has been long enough, and most likely Hildyr has already been waiting impatiently for her daughter’s return so she may continue dangling the thread of Lucette’s missing soul over Waltz’s head. _That_ is something that will not change, Waltz is sure of, until he has the means to bring about that change himself.

From behind him, Varg follows only a few feet away, and it is short enough of a distance that Waltz is able to hear the strangely venomous words that are hissed at him. “Are you a fool? Using magic so openly when you realize that Hildyr is always watching your every move?”

The question sparks some amusement within Waltz, and he slows his pace just a little so he may answer. “Yes, Hildyr is watching my every move, which is why there’s nothing wrong with what I just did.”

Varg makes an unimpressed noise underneath his breath and changes the topic instead. “What was it for?”

“What for?”

“The…flower,” Varg responds, sounding as if he could barely get the words out.

Silently, Waltz decreases his speed even further so that Varg is at his right shoulder, a position oddly close for such a trivial piece of information. “It’s her favorite flower,” he says quietly, suddenly feeling somber for reasons he cannot name. “A lily.”

Varg makes another noise, this time in a sort of pained understanding. Now that Waltz knows he has feelings for the princess, it is much easier to notice all the ways in which he reacts to any mention of Lucette. “Her…favorite flower?” Varg repeats, voice a bit strained. “What does that even matter?”

Waltz clenches his jaw and says, stubbornly, “It matters,” without giving another explanation.

Before they re-enter the palace, Lucette already walking ahead of both of them after seeing her mother at the end of the hall, Varg stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Bewildered, Waltz turns his head, wondering what is going on this time.

He does not say anything, however, when he sees Varg contemplating something, eyes calm underneath the mask. A beat passes. Varg nods once, nearly unseen. Another beat. He wastes no time in continuing forward into the palace. Waltz shoves any and all thought of whatever the hell Varg had just said to him and continues on as well, keeping in the back of his mind the reminder to later analyze that single, speculative look that may have just flipped all of his plans upside down.

* * *

 

For the remainder of the day, Waltz is buzzing with impatience. He wants to begin outlining strategy for this plan as soon as he can because now, he has been given the great opportunity of a possible ally, which is so much more than he’s had since working under Hildyr. No matter how many times through the afternoon he tells himself that he must be patient, that he must not do anything reckless that could work against him, he can’t help it. It is more than he’s hoped since the very beginning, and he will not let it slip from his grasp when it has not even started.

In the last few hours of day, Waltz finds himself going through each shop in town for his routinely check-ups, something that Hildyr put in place not long after she began her rule to make sure there weren’t any “possible traitors”. Waltz hardly remembers the monologue she gave him that day, so blinded by hatred he was at basically spying on the people he used to converse with and entertain as a street performer, but now he is almost…grateful for it.

Because of the few hours that he gets to spend in towns all over Angielle, he gets to hear information about small acts of rebellion, such as ripping down the propaganda posters nailed to store walls or harassing some of the knights that march through, and he plays his part in trying to help these people as secretly as he can in between his regular duties. It is a risk, and for something so small, most would not even turn an eye to help. But for Waltz, and for these townspeople, they are the only ways they can safely rebel against Hildyr’s rule without getting her attention and being punished for it.

He hums under his breath, wanting to release this itch inside his skin as he exits another shop after “examining it”, which in his terms, only means that he popped in, spoke pleasantly to the store owner for a few minutes, then left feeling a bit lighter than when he first entered. An almost smug feeling rushes through him; it is so easy to pretend that he is completing his tasks when really, he is just strengthening the bond he has with the townspeople, however hopeless they feel.

When the time comes, he is somewhat certain that they will do their parts in overthrowing Hildyr’s rule, even if there are only a few courageous souls who are able to do so.

There is nearly a skip in his step as he crosses the square to the tailor’s, but he is stopped in his tracks when there comes a tug on a loose part of his shirt. Reflexes fine-tuned during his time in the palace, Waltz calls up his magic at the same moment he turns around, ready to fight whichever opponent has decided to off him this time. His stomach drops when he realizes that it is just a small child, maybe 6 or 7, and he…he recognizes her. He quickly waves off the purple magic surrounding his fingertips, and takes a step back as the girl stares back at him with wide eyes, almost…fearful.

Waltz swallows past the dread in his throat and takes a less intimidating stance, but it is too late. The girl becomes meek, hanging her head and fingers twisting nervously in front of her. “S-sorry, mister. I just saw you in the square and remembered you. You’re Waltz, right? The one who always played with us?”

Whatever color Waltz might have had on his face drains at her question. He _definitely_ recognizes her; she was one of the children who used to play with him and who always came to his puppet shows when they were still running. _Arielle..? No, it was something like that._ He curses to himself for not remembering her name, but he does not forget faces. Suddenly speechless, Waltz shuffles forward a little and feels a pang in his chest when the girl backs away.

 _Afraid. I did that._ Waltz quickly takes in his surroundings and sees a few other adults cautiously looking at him, turning their faces away when his eyes meet theirs. What did he look like to them? Merciless? Cruel? Has he really changed so much that the people he used to be a part of can’t trust him not to hurt one of their own?

What appears to be the girl’s father hurries up to them, taking his daughter’s hand and hastily chiding her, but Waltz notices that the father does not turn his back to him. He pushes his daughter slightly behind him, as if shielding her from Waltz. The father bows his head, as if remorseful. _Afraid._ “Very sorry about that, sir. It will not happen again.”

Before anyone makes another move, a few knights have already entered the scene, standing behind Waltz as if…as if he were one of them, as if supporting him as someone who is important to their Queen. One of the knights moves forward, face twisted in hostility and hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Is there a problem here?”

Blood leaves the father’s face, making him look deathly pale and terrified. “N-no, sirs.” The hand clutching his daughter’s tightens.

Feeling sick, Waltz rearranges his expression so it looks calmer than he actually feels and turns to the knights. “If there was a problem, I would have handled it myself. There’s a reason that I am…” he pauses, a chill running down his spine, “that I am Queen’s Hildyr’s most loyal servant.” He hates that he must appear to be on Hildyr’s side, but if she catches wind of his…disobedience, she will keep both him and Lucette on a tighter leash and he won’t be able to do anything himself.

The knight’s scowl lifts into a tiny smirk, but it is enough to make Waltz feel even worse. The man’s eyes, however, remain distrustful. “Is that so? Well next time don’t dally, otherwise we will take it into our own hands to solve the problem.”

Waltz nods but does not say anything more as the knights go back to whatever they were doing before—probably drinking and laughing about how stupid he must seem, or something. There is no need for that—Waltz already realizes that he is playing a dangerous game here. When the rest of the knights are gone from the square, Waltz allows his shoulders to relax a little and he turns back to the father.

“Sir—“ Waltz begins, but he does not get the chance to continue, because the father somehow looks even more afraid, if that were possible. Afraid and…angry.

“Don’t even bother explaining,” he bites out, scared and furious at the same time. “We know where your allegiances lie now.” Without giving Waltz the opportunity to argue otherwise, the man walks off towards one of the houses.

The others in the square murmur to themselves, a buzzing that becomes more and more overwhelming the longer Waltz stays there. They whisper things to each other that he does not already know about himself, but it still hurts, cuts him to the core. As if on automatic, he trudges to a small alley in between two shops, not even noticing that all the townspeople in the square had already gone back to their own tasks by the time he gets there.

In the alley, he slumps against the wall and grips a handful of his hair, feeling unimaginably guilty—again. This always happens—he cannot take one side without risking what he has in the other. Running a hand down his face, Waltz allows himself to…for lack of a better term, wallow in self-pity for another minute. Just another minute, before he has to put the mask back on and continue with his duties.

He barely registers the hand on his arm until it is nearly too late; it drags him further into the alley, where there are more shadows and fewer possibilities for someone else to discover them. He’s about to shout in alarm when the hand clamps tightly over his mouth, and irritation bursts through him. He has no patience to deal with a random enemy right now.

As soon as he decides to do something about it, the person behind the hand speaks up, and he freezes. “Jeez, Waltz, it’s only me.”

When the hand is removed from his mouth, he turns slowly and comes face to face with Jurien Valiente, another former knight of the Order of Caldira. And Garlan’s close friend. A wave of emotions rushes through him at seeing her face. First, joy—at finally being able to check another person off his “alive people from the Marchen” list. Then…anxiety, fear, and _guilt_ , so much he can hardly breathe past it.

 _Does she…does she know?_ Hesitant about giving up information that she may or may not know yet, Waltz decides on a short, “Jurien!” _Oh, sure that doesn’t make you sound suspicious._

Jurien gives him an odd look before forgetting about it and begins to speak urgently. “Listen, I can’t stay here long, but I just needed to tell you some things before going.”

Questions explode in his mind but the only thing he manages to ask is, “Going?”

“Yes,” she confirms, holding up a hand to keep him from interrupting her. “What I guess is most important that you should know is this: everyone is still alive.”

A weight that Waltz had been carrying for months falls off his shoulders. _Everyone…is alive. Thank god. Thank god._ He does not have to worry anymore about whether they are dead somewhere, because they are all still alive. _Thank god._ He almost feels like weeping, but stops himself when he hears Jurien begin to speak again.

“Also, there have been…rumors of possible uprisings against Hildyr from other kingdoms. Mostly bar chatter right now, but some people are beginning to think that they should all rise up and work together to defeat her.” Jurien’s brow remains furrowed as she relays this to Waltz, but her tone is clear and precise, so familiar and welcome that he can feel the burden lessen a bit more. “There are no real plans so far, or not yet from what Delora and Prince Klaude have told the rest of us.”

It is such a blessing to be able to hear those words come from Jurien’s lips. _Delora. Karma. They are both still alive._ “And…the others? How are they?” Waltz finds himself having to ask. Jurien had said they were alive, but as to their physical or mental health…?

The former knight hesitates, just a bit, and it is enough for Waltz to feel sick again. “Parfait is…not doing so well. You remember how weak she was before Hildyr went into power. Because the balance between the two Crystallums has shifted once more, she has become so weak that she can barely leave her room.”

Waltz opens and closes his mouth, willing words to escape, but all he can say is, “Oh.”

Jurien appears down for only a moment, then she shakes it off and determination, a fiercer and more ruthless kind than Waltz’s own, enters her eyes again. “Still, she forces us to involve her in anything we do, so we keep her updated and let her do smaller tasks if she can. Otherwise, everyone else is alright.”

 _That sounds like Parfait,_ Waltz thinks fondly. “Where are the rest of you right now?”

Again, Jurien is hesitant. “That, I cannot tell you. You are still connected to Hildyr, and there is no telling whether she will be able to get that kind of information from you. I’m sorry, Waltz.”

Even though it is reasonable, Waltz cannot help but be discouraged. His own family, not being able to fully trust him anymore because of who he has become. “I see.”

“But what about you? How are things at…the palace?” she inquires.

Waltz spares her the particularly horrible details of his time at the palace, but still, his breath catches when he mentions Lucette, who has had no change. Jurien looks at him sympathetically, which makes it all the more worse when he thinks of Garlan, whom she had been together with before.

When he brings up Varg, however, Jurien interrupts him. “Wait. Varg? As in, pet dog to Mythros? That one?”

“It was surprising to me as well,” Waltz admits. “He is now working for Hildyr, but his main loyalty is still to the princess.”

Jurien remains silent for a beat before suggesting, slowly, “Do you think that we can bring him over to our side?”

More good news that Waltz is willing to share. “Maybe. He’s already shown signs of possibly working together with me. I have to talk to him later to make sure of anything.”

“How is that possible?” Jurien mutters to herself.

It is not really that important to give out, but Waltz adds anyways, “He has…feelings for the princess, which is why I believe that he will help given the proper…motivation.”

Jurien’s eyes widen in clear disbelief. “Feelings? He is in love with her?”

Before Waltz can say anything else, however, Jurien has fallen silent, obviously beginning to insert this small detail into the rest of the Marchen’s developing plans. He quickly scans their surroundings and peers his head through the alley, but there is still no one in sight. Good. He can afford to stay a bit longer, but any more than that and he is risking both of them being caught.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Jurien speaks up, and her tone of voice makes Waltz think whatever she’s going to say will only hurt. “Garlan came by about two days ago, scouting. Have you happened to run by him?”

Waltz’s mouth dries at the same time his hands begin to sweat. There is literally no way he can lie to Jurien’s face—mostly because she is part of his family, and also because he is a terrible liar. So he decides to stick as close to the truth as possible without actually lying. “Yes. Only for a short time, though. We didn’t…really get to speak to one another.”

Lips softening into a small smile, Jurien replies, clearly relieved, “Oh really? I always tell him to be careful, but if you happened to see him, then he should have tried a little harder.”

 _Please, please, please, please, just tell her already! Stop holding it in!_ Waltz laughs shortly. “Aha, yeah.”

Making a humming noise, Jurien seems about ready to leave as she dusts off her gloves and looks around the dark alley. “Well, if you happen to see him again, would you tell him to come back? The others have been worrying about him.” _As well as I,_ she does not add but is obviously meant.

 _Stop lying. Just tell her. She’ll hate you forever, but…at least she’ll know the truth. She deserves that much, at least._ “Jurien, I have to tell you something,” Waltz finally gets out, the guilt making it extremely difficult for him to say anything.

“Hm? What is it?”

 _He’sdeadhe’sdeadhe’sdead—I let him die—_ “Garlan is…he’s—“ his hands are shaking, thinking about what happened that night. It still haunts him so much, almost every waking moment. He cannot stop thinking about how he should have done something more, more than just standing there frozen.

As Waltz struggles to get the words out, Jurien’s fond expression hardens into something almost unrecognizable, eyes dulling and mouth in a line so thin it’s white. _Has she realized? Does she know?_ Waltz hates how relieved he feels that Jurien will be able to connect the dots herself so he does not have to say anything more. Completely silent, Jurien sighs, but it sounds pained, and turns around, her back facing him.

“Is he?”

She does not even have to say the rest of it for Waltz to know. “Yes,” he chokes out, tremors wracking his body as he experiences the same grief as he did the night it happened. “I’m sorry.”

Jurien does not even say anything else before she walks off, farther into the now-lengthening shadows as day turns to dusk. Waltz cannot bring himself to say anything more, knowing that whatever he tries to will only fall on deaf ears, and he will not believe it himself, anyways. He can only watch Jurien’s back slowly disappear from his vision, numbness coursing through his blood and heart bleeding on the gravel.

* * *

 

When Waltz is able to pick himself off the ground again, it feels like hours have passed but most likely it’s only been a few minutes. He wonders why it is taking him so much longer to process _this_ experience than when Garlan had actually died. Wouldn’t the death of a family member be more painful?

 _Maybe_ , a deep, dark place inside him whispers, _because Jurien will tell everyone else and they will know what a terrible, selfish person you really are._ The sudden thought makes him shudder in disgust—at the actual thought or himself, he doesn’t know. There have been moments in his life when he wonders how he is able to be so selfless all the time. Most of the time, it’s only because doing good makes other people happy, which makes him happy as well. Several other times, however, he’s only able to think of himself, of how this or that will affect _him_ , which is so unbearably self-centered.

The others will _know_ that he had done nothing to stop Garlan from dying, and that thought frightens him so much more than anything else. The idea of his _family_ , those people who grew as close to him as blood when his real family was dead, hating him is…it is almost too much.

He wants them to keep the image they have of him in their minds, of kind, selfless Waltz Crisswell who smiled when things were bad and whom children loved. The Waltz Crisswell who deals with battling corruption, who sometimes ends up hurting other people in order to achieve his goal…that Waltz is the one he doesn’t want other people to see, not the least the family he loves so much.

It is just…easier, to maintain an image that everyone will readily believe, anyways. In his eyes, Waltz Crisswell is the person that others like and trust in, instead of this anxious, stubborn man who often feels like he is still stuck in the Neverland Curse.

Exhausted, Waltz drags his feet back to the palace and thinks about retiring to his quarters early for now, but as he is walking down the hall he spots Varg heading towards him from the opposite direction. Not sure whether to actually acknowledge him now that they’ve reached a very tentative understanding, Waltz is about to pass right by Varg when the other man abruptly stops him with the handle of his cane. Confused, Waltz opens his mouth to speak but Varg quickly shakes his head, then tilts it in…some direction. There are still a few areas that Waltz has not visited, mostly because they are either blocked off or he has never had the curiosity to, so he honestly has no idea where Varg wants him to follow.

“Um—“ Waltz begins, but is shushed by a glare from Varg. Right now, he has absolutely no patience to deal with Varg’s vague answers, so he sends him a glare of his own, pointedly tapping at the handle of the cane. “If you needed to talk to me, just say so.”

Varg finally makes a noise of exasperation, removing his cane. “You really have no sense of secrecy, do you?”

Oddly offended, but still too tired to deal with this, Waltz merely shrugs. “I am not a secretive sort of person. What do you want?”

“So straightforward,” Varg mutters, as if this is something he has to deal with often. They’ve hardly known each other half a year and have spoken to each other for maybe a week of that, so this kind of feeling is confusing to Waltz. “Come on, let’s go somewhere before Queen Hildyr or one of the knights spots us.”

With another halfhearted shrug, Waltz suggests, “My quarters?” and starts in that direction again before he has been given a reply. There is something about Varg that causes Waltz to have no patience for whatever games he wants to play. Maybe it is that they both love the same woman.

Waltz can hear Varg huffing behind him before following, footsteps significantly quieter than Waltz’s own, which is…a bit alarming, if Varg ever tried to sneak up on him. They reach Waltz’s quarters in the next two minutes, and as soon as Varg has closed the door, Waltz has collapsed onto his bed and slipped off his boots. He sighs, stretches a bit, then finally sits up, seeing that Varg has helped himself to the chair in front of his desk.

“So what do you want?” Waltz asks, feeling strangely more relaxed now that he is in his own quarters, a place that allows him to actually relax from all the insanity of his daily life. “I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about girls—or, well, Lucette, I guess.”

Varg’s eyes narrow, unimpressed with Waltz’s attempt at humor. “You seemed more serious about this when we were speaking in the library before. Has that sentiment changed?”

Sitting up, Waltz eyes Varg carefully, mouth twitching. “What exactly is ‘this’ you are talking about?”

There is an inexplicably burning look behind the man’s mask, though the rest of his face remains stubbornly blank. “Rising up against Queen Hildyr, of course. Is that not what you were thinking?”

Waltz straightens so rapidly that he feels a bit lightheaded. _Is…is this real?_ “You…are in favor of it?” he asks, slowly, just to make sure he did not hit his head somewhere and is imagining this moment right now. With all that’s happened today, this is…something that he did not expect, considering that Varg is not the sort of person who takes action when he does not need to.

Varg does not hesitate when he nods, sharply. “I am.”

Waltz struggles to think of a reason for Varg’s sudden agreement and can think of none. None that would make total sense, anyways. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why would you agree when you wouldn’t gain anything?”

Apparently that is the wrong question to ask, because Varg’s hands tighten into fists on his lap and his nostrils flare in irritation. “Do you not believe that I can be…charitable?”

From what Waltz has seen of him over several months’ time, no. But he does not blurt that out, because it may just be enough for Varg to actually hit him over the head this time. “Not…exactly,” he says, leaning back a tad in case Varg decides to attack him or something. “But even I am not doing this for a completely selfless reason,” he confesses, knowing that only an insane person would go up against Hildyr just because they do not like her in power.

It is not a challenge to figure out that reason. “Lucette,” Varg observes.

Waltz nods in agreement. “For Lucette. So what is your reason?”

Varg appears to be almost…nervous to reply. Honestly, if they’ve managed to get this far in terms of actually _teaming up_  to bring down a tyrannical dictator when less than a year ago they would have tried to kill each other, it shouldn’t be so hard to admit something like this. “It is the same as yours.”

 _Ah, that makes sense. Why didn’t I immediately think of that? Oh well, I can blame that on the tiredness._ “Understandable,” Waltz comments.

“You are not…?”

“Not…?” Varg’s still-confused expression leads him to realize what the masked man meant, and Waltz forces down some amusement. “Are you asking if I am jealous?” Waltz does not even give Varg the chance to splutter a denial—the man is…startlingly predictable—when he continues, “Because I am not. I am confident in my feelings for her, and even though I don’t know how close you got to her, I am confident enough in her feelings for me.”

As expected when Waltz makes such a statement, Varg appears disheartened by the fact that Lucette most likely does not feel the same for him as he does for her. If there is anything Waltz knows about the princess, though, it is that she will at least be a very good friend regardless of any romantic feelings. That is how kind she is, even if she may not think so.

Mustering a small smile for him, Waltz sighs again and wonders how they always come back to talking about Lucette, then immediately realizes that it is because she is the one thing that they both have in common. “Like I said before,” he reassures, “I have no idea how close you got to her, so at least that part is uncertain.”

“You’ve known her since you were younger, though,” Varg points out, almost carelessly.

Waltz’s smile leans a bit left. “Now how did you know that?”

By now, Varg has probably gotten comfortable enough to talk more casually with him, or maybe he does not even notice he is doing it because he offers, without even thinking, “I believe she must have told me at one point, when I was ‘protecting her’ and she did not have anyone else to talk to.”

It is both heartwarming and surprising that Lucette has spoken about him to other people, especially one like Varg, who was most likely extremely prickly and unapproachable before all of this happened. “Really…” Waltz murmurs.

He wonders what she must have said about him. Probably something vaguely teasing but so very sincere. It makes him miss her even more and want to talk to her, as _herself_ , again, just so he can revel in the light but soft feeling whenever she answers him in her playful, but genuine way. Waltz releases a long, slow breath when he realizes he’s lost himself in his thoughts of Lucette again, and he turns to his quarter’s other occupant to find that Varg is looking at him.

“You are willing to give up your life for her,” he says, so direct and straightforward.

“Yes,” Waltz answers, and that is all.

Somehow, the two of them reach a silent understanding that that is all will be talked about tonight, with Varg first making sure that nobody is around outside before leaving the room, and Waltz still slumped on his bed wondering over everything that happened during this meeting. He now knows a few things for certain. One, that Varg is willing to help—for now—in his eventual plans to destroy Hildyr. Two, that Varg has more information on his and Lucette’s personal life than he thought, which is not so much worrying as it is really weird. And three, that although Varg had never outwardly said it, he would also gladly give up his life for the princess they are both trying to save.

**Author's Note:**

> come hit me up on tumblr @ukiyosen


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